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Reflection

by Matt Matlovich, Port Lambton, ON, Canada, Age 17

He sat in the smooth plastic chair, his arms lying flat on the cold steel armrests. He closed his eyes tightly, plunging himself into a deep darkness. The last thing he wanted to do was relive his old memories.

The mind is a great thing and, sometimes, even a wonderful thing, bringing joy and elation. However, at the same time it can be a horrible thing, bringing back the memories of times we wish to forget—forever. Jonathon experienced something horrible, and he would now find the true meaning of the phrase ‘the past will come back to haunt you.’

* * * * *

The bright light seeped in through his eyelids, blindingly white compared to the former darkness. However, he would not open his eyes. He knew what was lying beyond them and just was not ready for it. There is a time in every person’s life when he must confront his greatest fears, for that is the only way to overcome them. However, Jonathon knew that this was not his time.

It began twenty-three years ago, when he was only thirteen. Nevertheless, it still lingered in his mind as if it were yesterday. He had horrible dreams about it. Pain and agony continued to build in his heart and he wished no one else in the world had to experience it.

That did not matter anymore; no one cared what happened to him in the past, regardless of the severity. Of course, he was empathized with for the first few years with positive reinforcement from his teachers and peers. That did not replace his parents; nothing could replace his loss.

Now, so many years later, he was finally about to relive the past, to confront his deepest fear and his darkest secret.

A door opened and closed to the right of his head, followed by loud footsteps, the type that only jet-black dress shoes create. He heard the shuffling of papers as someone placed the large sheaf of paper on the table in front of him. He was tempted to open his eyes, but did not. He remembered what else hid within the room. It was something horrible.

“Mr. Huckson, how are you today?” The calm voice of a gentleman broke the silence, causing Jonathon’s body to make a quick jump.

“Uh, I…I…I’m doing fine,” he stuttered, keeping his eyes tightly closed. The light outside them, however, grew stronger.

“Really? You’re not looking too good right now. You should open your eyes and look at yourself,” the man said, taunting him.

“I’d prefer to close my eyes for the moment, thank-you.” he responded, a smirk spreading across his face.

“Well, then please explain to me why you want to close your eyes, sir,” the man stated.

“I believe you know the answer to that question, or else I wouldn’t be here right now,” he remarked.

“Well, where are you? You’ve had your eyes closed for the past couple of hours,” the man remarked, lifting his voice.

“I don’t know exactly, but I have a good idea. Do you want me to explain what I think?” he asked, moving his head blindly in the direction of the man’s voice.

“Sure, humour me,” the man accepted. His footsteps were heard again, moving across the hard tile floor of the room. There was the slight scuffle of a chair leg across the smooth linoleum as the man sat down close to Jonathon.

* * * * *

Jonathon opened his eyes, bringing his large fists towards his face to ward off the sleepiness. His covers lay in a heap on the floor, remnants of a night of turmoil and restlessness. A smile spread across his face as he looked at them. He was beginning to get used to the fact that he woke up to a mess, no matter how hard he tried to keep his room clean.

The dreams were getting worse, beginning to linger with him longer into the day. The image of his dream crept into the back of his mind, staying vivid for hours.

Jonathon swung his legs out of his bed and onto the cold hardwood floorboards. A sharp stinging sensation shot up his legs. He quickly lifted his feet from the floor and moved them into a worn out pair of slippers. The once-smooth and straight fuzzy black hair that lined the outside was now tangled and in patches from extensive over-use.

There were no windows in his room, disallowing any light from entering this darkened place. He did not like windows. They gave off a reflection.

Jonathon walked out of his room, sliding across the floor. His arms hung loosely at his sides, swinging in long, fluent motions, synchronized with each step. When he moved into the kitchen, he heard the first bang. It came from the front door of the house and sounded loud and sharp. He cocked his head in that direction and held the fridge door open with one arm.

Another loud bang sounded from the front door, shaking the walls. The hanging light fixture in the kitchen rattled with the loud thump, sending small particles of dust falling to the ground and glistened from the artificial light. Again, this room had no windows, no possible surface which would give off a reflection.

“This is the police, Mr. Huckson! Open up!” A man shouted from outside the door, just before another loud bang.

Jonathon stepped forward, allowing the refrigerator door to close silently behind him. His housecoat hung just above his ankles, fixed to his body by a single knot around his waist. He was not ready to open the door; he did not want someone to see him like this. However, it was the police. He had better respond to them.

“Mr. Huckson, please open up, or else we will break down your door!” The man shouted again, this time anger building in his voice.

“Hold on! Hold on! I’m a comin’,” Jonathon muttered, slowly making his way over to the door. His eyes still felt heavy with sleep.

With one quick motion of his wrist, Jonathon slid the chain from the lock on the door and twisted the dead bolt. He quickly turned the knob, revealing himself to the officers outside. There were about five or six officers and, when he opened the door, one dressed in a brown trench coat reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge.

“Detective Sadler. Are you Jonathon Huckson?” the man asked. Jonathon gave a quick nod in reply, before stepping aside and waving his hand into his apartment, issuing the men inside.

The officers slowly filed into the darkened home. The living room was poorly maintained and their faces broadcasted their disgust.

“What can I do for you today, sir?” he asked, beginning to wake up.
“Well, I’m leading an investigation, one that you are very well aware of,” the detective responded, keeping constant eye contact with Jonathon.

“No,” Jonathon replied in a low voice, stepping back in disbelief, “you’re not reopening it, are you?”

“I’m afraid we are. With the new advancement in DNA technology, the superiors decided to have us work on this case. After all, the killer was never found,” Detective Sadler responded.

“Please, please don’t talk about that right now,” Jonathon begged, remembering the vivid dream he just experienced.

“I’m sorry, Jonathon, but we must. We need your help in this case. You are the sole witness,” the detective explained.

“Yes, but that was a long time ago. People do tend to forget things,” he lied.
“We both damn well know that you didn’t forget what happened. I’m going to have my men search your apartment and see what we can find around here,” Detective Sadler said, waving his hand around in a fluid circle, signaling to the officers to search the entire apartment.

“You don’t understand, detective,” Jonathon replied, trying to stop the officers from searching his home. He knew that what they might find would lead to more questions that were hurtful.

“I don’t understand what, Jon?” Detective Sadler questioned, moving closer to him.

Jonathon did not respond. He just looked sternly at the detective, his lips unmoving. He knew that whatever he said could be interpreted incorrectly. That was something he did not want to risk happening.

“Hey, detective over here!” A sensuous female voice sounded in the far corner of the home. Just by the sound of the voice, Jonathon was able to picture where she was—the bathroom.

Detective Sadler walked quickly down the hall and out of Jonathon’s sight. This presented Jonathon with a tempting question. Should he run, or should he stay? He was not sure, but before long, the opportunity disappeared as the detective returned. His hands were now gloved with off-white latex and he was holding an open bag. Inside the clear bag were numerous bottles, Jonathon’s medication.

“Jonathon, you seem to have a lot of prescriptions,” Detective Sadler said, raising his eyebrows at Jonathon, as if his very integrity was crushed by this discovery.

“I told you that you wouldn’t understand,” Jonathon replied through gritted teeth, his fists clenched into tight balls, his knuckles turning white.

“Well, enlighten me then. What exactly is benzodiazepine agonist, or coenzyme Q10, or risperidone, or olanza—” Detective Sadler began lifting the bottles out of the bag and reading the contents on the labels.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Jonathon shouted, covering his ears.

“They’re prescription medications, used to treat insomnia, migraines, schizophrenia, and depression,” a fidgety man replied in a matter-of-fact manner.

“See, figure he’d come in handy eventually,” Detective Sadler said.

Jonathon did not reply, but just stood there with his head bowed, ashamed.

“So, please explain to me why you have all of these medications, exactly?” Detective Sadler questioned.

“They’re to help my…problems,” Jonathon replied, after a slight hesitation.
“What are these problems?” The detective continued to interrogate.

“First, explain to me why you have come here to ransack my house. Do you even have a search warrant?” Jonathon argued, becoming defensive.

“Whoa, cool it! Yeah, here it is,” Detective Sadler responded, reaching into the front pocket of his coat and removing a thin white piece of paper. Jonathon brought it closer to his face for inspection. “We’re here to ask you some questions. We’ve searched your house because we believe you are hiding something from us.”

“What exactly could I hide? I’ve been fired from every job I’ve ever worked. I’ve never had a girlfriend. I don’t have a single flaw in my criminal record, and I was stuck with a foster family for the last five years of my teens. They treated me like a f*****’ dog!” Jonathon flipped, his face now red with anger. Detective Sadler backed off for a moment, but then realized he must continue with his job.

“Have you actually stepped back to look at yourself, Jonathon? Just look at you! You don’t have a single window in this house! There are no mirrors, and no steel surfaces. You can’t tell me that you’ve forgotten about the murder of your parents! You still haven’t gotten over it! You have to tell us what happened that night!” Detective Sadler replied.

Jonathon did not reply. His bottom lip began to quiver and tears began to collect in the corner of his eyes. He knew that the topic would be brought up eventually. What happened was something a person can never forget.

“Before you ask me any more questions, I would like to talk to my lawyer,” Jonathon said after he calmed himself down. He looked down at his hands, and noticed they were beginning to shake. He quickly motioned for the detective to hand over the bag with his medication. After removing one of the bottles, he popped two pills into his mouth.

“Sure, but we would like to take you down to the station,” Detective Sadler responded.

“Okay, but let me change,” Jonathon responded, shoving past the detective and the other officers and walking into his bedroom. He slammed the door with great force, causing the light fixture in the kitchen to sway back and forth.

* * * * *

“And now we’re here,” Jonathon replied, still holding his eyes tightly closed. He began tapping his fingers on the table in front of him, a nervous habit he adapted after the incident.

The door opened again, followed by another set of footsteps crossing the tiled floor. These steps were a little louder, followed by heavy breathing as if the simple walk across the room was too much exercise for the man. Jonathon almost cracked a smile, but knew that this man was his lawyer and long time friend.

“Yes, and now your lawyer is here too. Do you wish to talk now?” Detective Sadler questioned.

“Only if we get out of this room. I know where we are. We’re in an interrogation room. There’s a big mirror right in front of me. You should know better than to put me in a room with a mirror,” Jonathon said uneasily, his voice shaking just at the thought of a mirror.

“Well, I can see what we can do. Hold on, I’ll be right back. You can talk with your lawyer, but I must say that whatever you say will be recorded,” Detective Sadler explained. Jonathon waited until he heard the detective’s footsteps leave the room and the heavy metal door lock back into place.

“What do they have against me?” Jonathon questioned, wrinkling his forehead and turning around to the place where he believed his lawyer sat.

“Well, that’s hard to say. We know that you don’t like mirrors. We all know what happened when you were just a teenager. But I was talking to one of the officers out there. He’s a good buddy of mine, by the way. We have drinks all the time. He said that the new detective, this Sadler character, has been begging superiors to allow him to reopen this case. He says that he believes you are holding something back. And believe me, the discovery of all those prescription drugs in your house hasn’t helped the case much,” his lawyer, Fred Hunter, explained in his low, grumbling voice.

“So what do they want to do? I don’t want to talk about what happened!” Jonathon replied.

“Psychiatric treatment. They want to hypnotize you. They believe this will be the only way if their other plan doesn’t work,” Fred responded.

“What other plan?” Jonathon asked, taken aback.

“They want you to open your eyes,” Fred responded. His remark was followed by an uneasy silence.

“What—what do you mean! I’ve had my eyes open my whole life! You’re not meaning in some crazy-assed philosophical way, are you?” Jonathon questioned after regaining his composure.

“No, I mean right now, Jonathon. You’re sitting there with your eyes wired shut. They want you to open them and look around. Specifically, into a mirror,” Fred explained.

“They want me to look into a mirror? You know I won’t do that! I can’t handle it!” Jonathon replied, infuriated.

“Listen, Jonathon, you’re doing nothing to help your case right now. The best thing you can do is go along with the detective’s orders. Do as he says,” Fred said in a soothing tone.

“Please quit using ‘Jonathon’ every time you speak to me. I’m not a little boy and I don’t need your comforting,” he snapped back.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Jona—. I’m trying to help you,” Fred finished, after catching his own mistake.

“Well, you could help me if you are able to convince them that I’m perfectly healthy and that I don’t look in mirrors because it’s a phobia, just like those people who are afraid of snakes or spiders or something like that,” Jonathon explained, waving his hands madly around in the air in an attempt to explain what he was thinking.

The door opened again, its hinges creaking as they moved. No footsteps were heard inside, but Jonathon could tell someone was standing there, watching him. He turned his head in that direction, his eyelids still forcefully shut. There was a nervous shuffle of footsteps, but then everything was quiet again.

“Okay, Mr. Huckson, I have a room booked for us. Please come with me,” the voice of the detective sounded from the doorway.

Jonathon felt the fat fingers of Fred clutch onto his shoulder. Fred swiftly pulled him up and directed him toward the door. Jonathon followed unwillingly, hoping he would be led into a dark room.

“Right this way, Jonathon,” Detective Sadler said after a few seconds of silence. Jonathon was forcibly held back for a moment as the detective opened the door to a new room.

After walking into the room, Fred forced Jonathon down into a big, comfortable chair. He was ordered to put his legs apart and rest his arms on the respective armrests. It was too late before he noticed that the detective was busily adjusting leather straps around his ankles and wrists. He was strapped down to the chair, but he continued to hold his eyes firmly closed.

“What are you doing to me?” Jonathon protested, writhing in his seat. However, Fred’s grip on his arms was too strong and his attempt failed.

“It’s for your own good. Now open your eyes,” Detective Sadler ordered.

“No, how do I know you don’t have a mirror there?” Jonathon argued.

“You don’t. You have to trust me. Just open your eyes,” Detective Sadler said, remaining calm.

Jonathon finally gave in to the detective’s command remembering Fred’s words of wisdom. Very slightly, he peeked through his eyelids. He noticed the detective hunched over him, the trench coat he was wearing earlier still wrapped around his small body. When he realized that the room was darkened and the walls the colour of a clouded sky, he opened his eyes fully.

“Well, Jonathon, it seems you have finally decided to join us,” Detective Sadler responded, moving into the darkness and out of his field of view. “I’m so sorry it had to come to this.”

The lights in the room were turned on, causing a wave of blinding light to flood the room. Jonathon blinked with the sudden change in the light of the room. However, he was too late. Before he was able to blink, he noticed the mirror in front of him.

* * * * *

Jonathon stood at the top of the stairs, his house darkened. Thunder rolled outside and rain pelted against the smooth glass window behind him. He held something in his hand, but he could not make it out in the darkness.

He slowly descended the stairs, moving downwards only one step at a time. His face was expressionless, but he had butterflies in his stomach. Something did not seem right.

The stairs creaked underneath his weight, but did not seem as loud as they should have been. Regardless, he continued to walk down, his head held straight, his eyes staring at the open space at the bottom of the steps. The object in his hand seemed to glisten every time a lightening bolt struck the ground.

As he neared the bottom of the steps, he noticed the flickering light of a candle. Shadows danced along the wall, moving in a solemn procession. Sweat began to trickle down his forehead.

When he reached the bottom, he heard his mom’s laugh for the first time. He stopped for a brief second, before turning around and facing the backs of his parents. They sat together on the couch, staring at the fireplace as the dry maple wood burned.

* * * * *

“Jonathon! Jonathon! Are you alright?” Detective Sadler frantically tried to hold Jonathon down as he quivered before him. The whites of his eyes were showing, no longer hidden behind his eyelids. Fred went to get help.

“Jonathon!” Detective Sadler yelled again. However, it was no use. Jonathon continued his fit of convulsions, shaking madly in the chair, nearly ripping himself free of the restraints.

* * * * *

Jonathon moved in behind his parents. They were laughing at something, as if they had an inside joke that only they could ever understand. Other than their laughter, everything was silent. Jonathon looked up into the mirror above the fireplace and looked into the faces of his parents.

He was invisible to them, masked by a thick cloak of darkness. The light from the flames was unable to touch him. Jonathon stepped forward, unwaveringly, beginning to raise the metal object in his hand.

As he stepped into the glow of the fire, he looked at himself in the mirror and nearly stepped back in horror. He was only thirteen. His abundance of facial hair ceased to exist. His features were still soft and full of innocence. His light blue eyes shifted to the object in his hand: a butcher knife.

When he returned his eyes to the mirror hanging above the fireplace, he began to move forward. His parents were still in a daze, laughing giddily. That could be, perhaps, from the drug he had placed in their drinks before supper. He was still invisible to them.

* * * * *

A crowd gathered around Jonathon as he sat in his chair, his convulsions beginning to slow down. His body no longer slithered in the chair, but instead seemed to vibrate. Detective Sadler stepped back, hiding in the shadows of the people. He should have known what would happen when Jonathon was confronted by his worst fear. He should have known that this could have happened.

* * * * *

The first time he brought the knife down he caught his mother in the nape of the neck. She let out a deep sigh, but continued as if nothing happened. Blood began to gush from the wound at the back of her neck. He brought the knife up again, this time bringing it down into his father, pushing it halfway through his neck.

His father’s body began to shake, but Jonathon did not even flinch. His eyes were glued to the mirror. For the next few minutes, he continued to bring the knife into the bodies of his parents until he knew they were dead. He dropped the knife and went back up the stairs.

* * * * *

“Jonathon?” Detective Sadler questioned, when he noticed a flutter in his eyes.

Jonathon stirred in his seat a little, opening his eyes. His body was sore. Red marks lined his wrists and knees. Small droplets of blood clung to the hair on his arms. After a few moments, he realized he was back in the police station, sitting in the chair. His face turned ghostly white.

“Jonathon, are you alright?” Fred questioned, finding it peculiar that Jonathon was now able to look at himself in the mirror.

“I killed them,” he responded in a blank tone. The crowd gasped.

“What, Jonathon? You killed who?” Detective Sadler questioned.

“I killed my parents,” he responded, sitting back in his chair. For the first time in twenty-three years, he was able to look at himself in the mirror, and he saw his reflection.